


Tea and Coffee

by Yuki1014o



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: "chaos and bloodshed" meet "I just want a quiet life", "friendly" conversation between fellow serial killers, Compare and Contrast, Conversations, Gen, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27235903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o
Summary: “Can I help you?” Kira says through his teeth, although he really just wants to slam the door on the Radio Demon’s face.“You misunderstand!” Says the Radio Demon, voice enthusiastic. “It’s not so much about what you can do for me as what I can do foryou!”“Absolutely not.” Perhaps he should treat the demon like a door-to-door salesmen, except more bothersome. “Is that all?”Some years after arriving in Hell, Kira is visited by the Radio Demon.
Relationships: Kira Yoshikage (Jojo: Diamond is Unbreakable) & Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Tea and Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't proofread. again. I'm sorry.

Kira has not been having a good day, week, year, or even afterlife. Hell is loud and chaotic; the antonym of peace. The food is cheap and the clothes are trash and the people are perhaps worst of all, and it makes Kira feel downright _murderous_.

He’s tried, though. He’s taken residence in some run-down house on the edges of Pride, where the cliffs drop into a sea of magma and the trees grow like gnarled wheels. Sinners tend to avoid these areas, where the city fades off into something more _hellish_.

Kira prefers it, if only a little. He honestly hates it, just only a little less than the city. No one bothers him here—no one has bothered him since his show of a manifestation.

Someone knocks on the door. Kira’s ears twitch. His nails almost ache with how fast they grow.

Hell has made him a cat; with lavender pelt and electric gold eyes. It’s changed his form to match the _one thing_ in his psyche that has always, _always_ , been the largest roadblock to an ideal life.

He bites at the rip of his nails, turns off the burner, and walks smoothly to the door. It opens with a creak. He doesn't know where to find oil for the hinges.

The Radio Demon grins at him, static spilling right into Kira’s home.

Ah.

Kira’s day has gone from normal bad to much, _much_ worse. He doesn’t want to deal with the Radio Demon. He doesn't want to deal with any overlords at _all_. But he lost control when he manifested, someone clawed along his shoulder and he was so _angry_ , and he died to some delinquents he didn’t even want to fight, and it ended up a scene.

He should’ve just bared with it instead of catching so much _attention_.

“Can I help you?” Kira says through his teeth, although he really just wants to slam the door on the Radio Demon’s face.

“You misunderstand!” Says the Radio Demon, voice enthusiastic. “It’s not so much about what you can do for me as what I can do for _you!_ ”

“Absolutely not.” Perhaps he should treat the demon like a door-to-door salesmen, except more bothersome. “Is that all?”

“Don’t be so bluenosed!” The Radio Demon demon says, still grinning. “I’m merely here in jolly spirit, my hissing friend! How has Hell been treating you?”

Kira can feel a headache creeping on. He digs his nails into the door frame. Better have scratched wood than take out an Overlord. He _will not_ deal with that kind of drama.

“Terribly, if you must know,” Kira says, and he means it, “are you planning on letting more heat in or will we take this conversation inside?”

“Haha! Don’t mind if I do!” Laughs the Radio Demon, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Cozy little place you have here! I would expect something more extravagant from you.”

“You know nothing of me,” Kira says, voice sour. He actually _does_ want something more elegant and clean, if not something large or eye catching.

The Radio demon pauses abruptly. The static goes up. “I suppose that’s true! Why, I don’t even know your name! Nor you mine! How very rude of me. Alastor, at your _service_.”

Kira thins his lips. His nails ache. “Kira.”

“Pleasure to meet you!” Alastor grins, mock-bows. “Your words make me most curious. What’s not to like down here?”

Kira wants to laugh. He hasn’t had a girlfriend in months. No one has good enough hands. His schedule is _all messed up_. Nothing is right. There’s hardly even a way to keep proper track of the time. All that plays over the radio is Alastor’s headache-inducing show and fast-paced swing.

“It isn’t peaceful,” Kira says, smoothing the wrinkles on his suit. Then smoothing them again, and again. He wants to bite his nails. “There’s no _quiet_ , no _order_ , I don’t know how you can _stand_ it.”

“But that’s the most fun part!” Alastor says, sounding almost offended. “What had you shunned topside brings only prestige here! You can have thrilling hunts with none of that pesky _worry_.”

Kira would rather not hunt at all. It’s not that he dislikes that part of himself—never, he’s a firm believer in self-acceptance—but it’s certainly the most _inconvenient_ part of his whole existence.

His tail twitches. “I’m not scum like you.”

A record screech. Alastor’s eyes narrow. “Bold words from a fellow serial killer! Hell hasn’t seen _that_ kind of massacre since _my_ manifestation!”

“Entirely accidental, I assure you,” Kira says, and doesn’t deny the _serial killer_ part. Alastor grins—cat-that-ate-the-canary.

Kira really wishes everyone would just forget about it. He didn’t exactly _mean_ to turn a full city district—complete with all its residents—to dust. But Hell has turned his annoyance into murderous impulse, which makes him near-murderous _all the time_.

“Haha!” Alastor twists his head. “I’m not quite understanding!”

“I’m not like _you_ ,” Kira says, “I kill from necessity. It’s just another part of me, you see. I find no pleasure in your...messy carnage.”

He saw one of Alastor’s messes over the television, once. It have him anxiety. The sheer amount of blood, of fluids, the way it got _all over_ everything. He ached to clean it up. It made his skin itch just looking at it.

Alastor plays a laugh track. His red-eyed stare in unnerving. “You think like we’re in the living world.”

Kira sees no difference. Except, of course, that the living world was _far_ more suited to his needs.

“I think like I always do.”

Alastor clicks his tongue, takes a step forward. His shoes tap loud on the petrified wood flooring. “You deny yourself. The pleasure of a hunt, of flesh between your fingers, you _do_ understand there's no one to stop you here, don’t you?”

At this distance the air is humming, vibrating—it makes Kira’s fur stand on end. It would be so easy, like this, to reach forward, touch his fingers against Alastor’s skin, and turn the demon right into dust.

His nails ache.

He _will not_ cause that kind of drama.

Even if he _did_ —there’s a look in Alastor’s eyes, like he’s expecting Kira to try. The whole premise is a lie. The instant Kira moves Alastor will be ten steps away.

He doesn’t try.

His kettle screams from the kitchen. Shrill and cutting. Alastor’s static goes up.

“I desire no such thing,” Kira says, lips thin, “please play something more appealing than that _static_ of yours. It’s very irritating.”

“Of course, my fellow!” Alastor says, and actually turns down the static. The kettle is still on.

Kira holds back a grimace and walks to the kitchen. He turns off the heat, moves the kettle, takes out a mug, pauses, takes out another one. “Hold on,” he says, because he _does_ know how to be a good host. The syrup-drizzled bacon and fried eggs are losing heat. He has some greens in the fridge but they’re sad and wilty.

He dishes them onto two plates. The tea is chamomile—good for stress relief. Alastor’s smile twitches a bit when he sets the table.

“How sweet,” says the Radio Demon. “I won’t have any of your noodle juice. And dripping fine meat in _syrup—_ I must say, I didn’t think you lacked taste to _that_ degree!”

Kira’s eyes twitch. His nails ache. “A mild meal is good for stress relief.”

“Nonsense,” says Alastor. “Spicy and filling is the only way to go!”

“Tasteless,” says Kira.

Alastor bares his teeth. “Tacky.”

“Schoolyard insults?” Kira says, and he’s been so high-strung lately. He usually has more control than this. Challenging an Overlord will _not_ help him towards a peaceful afterlife. “You didn't come here for that. _Cut to it_.”

A beat. Alastor’s static is loud, grates on Kira’s nerves, makes him want to rip something into dust.

“I simply want to let you loose,” Alastor eventually answers, tapping his claws on Kira’s table, playing out some beat Kira can’t identify. “I _truly_ find it a shame for you to just _sit_ here doing _nothing_. They’re calling you the Dust Demon, after the district you razed. For all that power, all that murderous intent to just be _wasted_...I’m sure you would understand.”

Kira very carefully doesn’t break the mug between his claws. This demon—

“You mean to _trap me_ ,” Kira says, and the room lightens as his pupils dilate. He wants to pounce. The flashy red of Alastor’s dress is searing. “You want a deal, you want more of your _chaos_. No deal. Have I not made it clear enough that I would like a _quiet life?_ ”

“You’re a murderer,” Alastor says, “you’re a _cat_ ; a pillar of predators. Don’t lie on your nature. Self-acceptance is the key to satisfaction, you see!”

Kira scoffs. “I’m not deluded on my nature, you’re just misinterpreting my intentions. A cat may hunt but it’ll also lay in the sun and _relax_.”

Alastor’s eye twitches. “If you desire this... _quiet—_ ” and he spits the word like it’s a mockery, Kira bristles—“life, then wouldn’t murder be quite counter-productive?”

“There’s no use in denying base urges,” Kira says, “ _that_ would be counter productive. Besides—perhaps you wouldn’t understand, but there's a certain feeling to desire. To look at the gentle touches and mutual support and quiet outings and thought _I want that_ —but to lack the feelings necessarily to acquire and sustain it—”

“Hah!” Alastor’s voice is brimming with static—Kira wonders if he’s hit a nerve. Another mutual point. “Sounds pathetic.”

Kira’s nails ache, he takes a sip of his tea. The chamomile is soothing. “Where else would I find a perfect girlfriend if not in a corpse?”

Alastor’s ears stand on point. He blinks once, then twice. “Disgusting!” Is his verdict.

Maybe that came out wrong. “Only the hands,” Kira says. “Real people are much too complicated and have far too many expectations.”

“Oh.” The Radio demons hums, and tilts his head in something that might be understanding, but looks more akin to mocking. “Well why didn’t you say so, my tasteless fellow? No matter. I can _feel_ your murderous intent even from here! Surely you urge to quell it?”

Kira’s had quite enough of this.

“You’re going about this wrong.”

Alastor’s smile is thin. It’s a dangerous kind of smile, a waiting smile, sharp teeth hidden beneath thin skin. “Did you say something?”

“You think of me like I’m you,” Kira says, and he doesn't know why that’s the case, doesn’t care to learn, either, but it’s _irritating_. “You’re a showman, I am not. You’re one for chaos and _I am not_.”

(Never place more than third place, show ambition but only a little. Work hard enough to be respected, but never enough to stand out. Smile, but never too wide, and never too much. Go out drinking for work, but never on personal occasions. Keep distance, but not enough to appear anything more than acquaintances. Keep quiet, keep happy.)

“...Boring,” says the Radio Demon.

“Simple.”

“Simple monotony.”

Kira narrows his eyes. “To each their own.”

“Boring,” Alastor says, again. Pauses. Then grins wide and claps his hands. “Ah, well! How do you feel about a job?”

Kira’s whole body twitches. He wants to gnaw on his nails. His new sharp teeth make it hard without inflicting too much damage. “I _just_ said—”

“A rhythm, is it?” Alastor interrupts. “Nothing is complete without one. You associate with me—it gives you status, no one will approach you with counter-offers. It’ll give you access to the best grounds of Hell and the best ingredients for your bland plate. I never did see the appeal in being employed beneath someone, but I imagine it’d fit well to your beat!”

Oh. He’s finally understanding.

Kira thinks about the wilted green in his fridge, thinks of how near- _unbearable_ the heat gets, around here. There’s no structure to his day.

“No being called at unreasonable times or without significant forewarning.”

Alastor laughs. “You couldn’t be more vague, my tasteless fellow!”

Ah. It seems like that name is sticking.

“We’re _negotiating_ right now,” Kira scoffs, “throwing out ideas. The contract—because it _will_ be a contract, not some vaguely worded deal—will be precise.”

“Deal,” Alastor says, eyes glittering with humor. There’s no magic in his claws, nothing binding, only a twist of irony.

It’s also, in some sense, a measured test; a way of confirmation.

Kira takes the hand, curling all his claws around it. Alastor is warm, even through the glove. It would be effortless, now, to reduce this all to dust. That’s Kira’s new ability, after all—he’s a cat, a predator, has gained Killer Queen’s ability to _erase_.

But really, that would be so much drama. Kira doesn’t want to do with that.

“To future contracts,” Kira says, and breaks the shake. No dust.

Alastor stares at Kira’s hand, smile still for only a moment, white noise coming thick. Then it stretches right up to his eyes, teeth sharp and gleaming. It makes Kira cringe, that kind of blatant display.

“Hah!” Laughs the Radio Demon. “How boring! Ah well. _To each their own_ , was it?"

**Author's Note:**

> If you want an explanation for what any of this is you aren’t getting one. I have no idea. Some random idea I had to throw onto paper.  
> Despite never having written him before, Kira is actually my favorite JoJo villain. Him and Valentine. I haven’t watched part 4 in like. A year though. So hopefully it wasn’t ooc?  
> I just wanted to contrast these two. They seem like they’d go on walks together, but kind of hate each other. Lowkey. In a “what the fuck is he doing” kind of way.
> 
> I enjoy feedback, so if you liked this please don’t hesitate to comment! As usual, constructive criticism is welcome. :)


End file.
